The Man With No Face
by ubekibekibekistanstan
Summary: oneshot. Scorpius Hyperion (Skhy) Malfoy is a Ravenclaw in his third year. James II stole his notebook, with suggestive drawing in it, and Skhy now faces repercussions. Themes: bullying, gay prejudiced society, father-son relationships


The Man With No Face

Nothing happened until the evening after the letter was sent. Skhy spent his time in the Tower, with Phi, trying to do homework. He kept his notebook in his left hand at all times now, but hadn't opened it since getting it back. He wasn't sure why - he had plenty of ideas of things he wanted to draw. That look Professor Longbottom gave him, Albus's eyes when he saw Harry Potter's likeness, the plant in the deputy headmaster's office that mimicked the dirty faces Phi made at it. But whenever he thought about making them real, or whenever he wanted to put quill to parchment for anything, his stomach curdled. Wotcher, Fairy. Drawing my Dad's dick again, are you? Skhy sucked in a cold breath and nested into the chair, folding his knees, tucking them between his shaking arms, and resting his forehead on the resulting brittle bundle. He felt a warm pressure on one of his limbs that quelled the goosebumps some. He peeked out from his bangs and met Phi's earthy eyes. It's going to be ok. He raised his head a bit more, and could see behind her some of the fourth years adjacent to them, whispering and staring. Phi let go of his arm and turned around to face them.

"Come on, it's not our business," Louis chastised, "Let's go see if any of the Beauxbaton girls are out."

He ushered his flock out of the common room, lingering to cast a look in Phi's direction.

"Let's go reaffirm our masculinity," she mimicked his accent in falsetto.

They shared a light beam, that made Skhy fall back into his dark chest. The door didn't shut, when Louis left, and instead new footsteps and an old voice called Skhy to attention.

"Mr. Malfoy," Professor Penrose paused to let him position himself more dignifiedly. Phi moved around to stand by the side of the chair, "Your father has just arrived, he's in my office. If you'll come with me -"

He swept out of the way of the door, motioning for Skhy to go forward first. Phi moved in unison as he did so, but the Professor caught her at the shoulder.

"But," she started.

"You've been a good friend, Phi, but this isn't your business," he gently pushed her away.

She turned to Skhy, who was half-way outside, and said with slight urgency, "just tell them exactly what's been happening to you, don't worry about Potter. And don't let them tell you you're anything that you're not."

"Thank you, Phi," Professor Penrose closed the door between them.

They descended the staircase from Ravenclaw Tower, down the corridor, up a staircase, down a staircase, more corridor, more staircase, and to his office in near silence. Skhy was nervous, of course, and because he didn't want to think about the cause he settled on the effect. His chest was heavy and hard but not secure, like he was a peering down from edge of a great craggy cliff to the churning waters that were his stomach. His face was cold, his fingers crimping from the effort of clenching, and every so often a wind of emotion would buffet him. How could he have let James take the sketchbook? Idiot. Why didn't he mask the ones of Albus or burn them as soon as they were done? Moron. What if they made him show Father the drawings, what would he make of them? Bugger. What happened to people who were like that, would they snap his wand and expel him? Dumbass. Make him leave home? Stupid, Stupid. Make him leave the wizarding world? Bloody. What would Albus think of him, then? Effing. What did he think of him now, did he believe James? Fairy.

They were only just approaching the door when the Professor asked, "Do you keep in contact with your father regularly?"

"Yes, sort of," Skhy thought about it a moment, "I owl posted him and Mother monthly in first year, but since then, no, not really."

Skhy knew some about the Muggle Studies Professor's abode from Phi. She told him about all the ancient muggle gadgets he had there - stationery Grindelwald-era posters of the muggle war from that time, colorful certificates from his days in the Ministry, a collection of dead overhead projectors in one corner, a carburetor that was perpetually running in another. It all sounded very interesting and Skhy had actually would have been looking forward to seeing the office himself, were he not so on edge. The reality of the environment disappointed him. It seemed that the Professor had quickly tucked everything away for the company's sake. The places where the posters would have been was recognizable by a square patches in the dust on the walls and the corners of the room had large tarps thrown over them, making it so there was nothing to distract from the persons present aside from the ambient hum of the carburetor zombie. The head of Gryffindor house and deputy headmaster was seated on a chair mismatched from the others in the office that he had likely both conjured for occasion to the right of the desk. Father was standing to the left, turned away from the door. He seemed to have been appraising the wall, and he looked around with Professor Longbottom in a start when Skhy and the Professor Penrose walked in.

"Thank you, Sir, for retrieving my son," Father conjured a small couch of his own, despite the student chairs that came with the classroom still being free, and motioned for Skhy to sit on the side furthest from Professor Longbottom. It was the same kind of couch that they had in their drawing room, made of shiny white leather. Father seated himself comfortably beside Skhy, crossing his legs and putting a familiar arm around the back of the couch over Skhy's side, like he would if they were at home,"now, gentleman, explain to me why we are here."

"Your son has been having some difficulties with the other children," Professor Longbottom started, "recently, within the past month, he got into a particular fight with one he has always been at odds with, and since then-abouts some of the students have been teasing him a bit more... pointedly than usual," he lapsed for a moment, and Professor Penrose picked it up.

"Now, the teasing itself fairly commonplace, and we wouldn't have called you down if that were simply the issue, but the students have been vocal enough to bring to our attention a matter about you son that's a good shake more troubling. They've been accusing him of - I apologize for having to say it, Mr. Malfoy, but it is was it is - sodomy and of being... sexually inverted."

Father planted both feet on the floor and the contents of Skhy's stomach wanted to be inverted. He had never heard been put that frankly before. The phrase Phi used, being 'gay', or lesbian as her mothers were, was so less clinical. The mental image he got was that of genitals being turned inside out, like a sock. Ehwww.

"Has he done anything reputable of this?" Father asked calmly, while withdrawing his arm from behind Skhy's head.

Professors Longbottom and Penrose exchanged glances.

"No true action, so far as we are aware, but there is a certain amount of what might be called evidence."

"Might?"

Professor Penrose continued, "The other students began the rumor, as we understand, because one of them found the notebook he uses for drawing."

"Stole," Skhy corrected lowly.

"Pardon?"

"James stole it, from my book bag. I didn't leave it lying about."

"For good reason," said Professor Longbottom in an aside.

"And so were the drawings pornographic in nature - ?" Father talked past him.

"No," answered Professor Longbottom, "I've seen them, and they aren't really unsavory, they're just very..."

Father narrowed his eyes at the Herbology professor, "Use your words, Longbottom."

"You have a look, you'll see what I mean. Scorpius," he addressed Skhy by his

given name as he never did in class so to distinguish between him and Mr. Malfoy, his father, "You have the notebook with you, can you give us a look at it?"

"You don't have to if you don't want me to see it," Father's voice dropped a decibel and Skhy had a sudden mad urge to show him. It's beautiful. He handed the black book over. Father opened it, like it was one of his tomes of ancient law in his study handwritten on decaying parchment where only one copy existed, respectfully. He browsed through the images - past the more abstract ones, past Iris and the owlery, past the quidditch pitch, past Phi - perhaps more rapidly than Skhy would have liked, but the since it was more of a scavenger hunt than a gallery walk he forgave it. It didn't take very long to find one the offending pieces, there was at least one Albus on every few pages, but Father didn't seem ruffled until he reached the one of Harry Potter. There he paused, and the other adults got up to see which one he had deemed a transgression. His eyes flicked from the scar there to the eyes, and then to the full length auror robes. Harry Potter did the usual movements, flowing hair, arms on hips, then crossed. The expression hardened, then he pointed his wand hand at the viewer and yelled inaudibly. he smiled, beautifully. Father looked back into the face, and his lip curled slightly. Harry winked and adjusted his glasses, as if in reply. Father's expression closed.

"Keep going," said Professor Longbottom grimly.

He waited a moment, but eventually did so, and within the next two pages found the true culprit - the man with no face.

"You see what I was saying," Professor Longbottom went on, "You could compare it to the pin-ups of Black Cat magazine we had as teens."

The head of Ravenclaw gave the herbology professor a look and his round cheeks pinked, "I guess I can't vouch for everyone, but it's like that. Except, well, you can see why having something like made public at the school would be a problem for us."

Father nodded slightly, "Would you professors mind giving Scorpius and me a moment alone."

"Not all," they chorused like startled owls, "No, no, please. We'll let you."

They couldn't get out the door fast enough, and when it shut with a muffled click of the handle, Father breathed. He closed the drapes to one of the windows and brightened the candles by another with one fluid swish of his wand, effectively simulating the lighting at home, and shifted to face Skhy. He set the book face open between them on the couch, and the change of position made the nude shift himself from reclining to lying down, still with the back of his head to the viewer.

"I'm sorry," Skhy said, not as a rushed attempt to plead guilty but as a genuine apology for his mistake. Idiot. Father winced slowly but didn't look at him. Skhy wanted to add a better line to the man's right wrist, and wanted to do it without ever having to see the drawing again. Father fiddled with his white barrister's bands; he must have come straight from his office in London to the school.

"What will happen to me? I mean, legally speaking."

"That depends," Father lowered his brow, assuming his Draco Malfoy, Barrister at Wizengamot face, "There is no law against passive deviancy, though there are many unsavory ones against specific acts. You haven't done anything punishable, as of now, so it's not so much a matter as what will happen to you as what could. And that doesn't have to be a bad thing."

He looked like he was going to explain further, but instead stood up. Pacing an oval through the center of the room, down the pattern where their serpentine decorated carpet would be, his dark brown business robes highlighted a rust color. Skhy closed his eyes and let the carburetor think for him a moment.

"There are remedies," Father said finally, "Potions are the ones I know of, but a healer could tell you more. We could take you to see a private one, if you think you you needed it. Figure out which method you're most comfortable with. The one I can recall on hand is reasonably convenient to take regularly, and can keep you from the symptoms during the day. I don't think it covers dreams, but there are others that do."

"I don't think that's," Skhy started carefully, but Father was speaking too quickly.

"Of course, if the problem is that you're not a girl, that can be helped much easier. There are dozens of spells, and potions, and charmed objects for that matter, that could change you."

Father looked down on him and smiled. It was meant to be kind, but it was just too tense to work, "Your mother and I wouldn't care for you any less, if that's what it came to."

"No!" Skhy exclaimed, "I don't want to be a girl, I don't need that. There isn't anything wrong with me, that needs that. I just -"

They both looked at the drawing.

"Yes?" Father prompted softly. Skhy screwed up his eyes and reeled back from the edge.

"I don't want to do sodomy. James is a liar. I drew this because I was trying to draw men's bodies for the sake of it, not because I think, not because I like it. It's a thing for Art."

"Your teacher in Art class told you to draw this," Father said slowly, trying to follow the backbreaking bends Skhy was doing with his internal logic.

"Not exactly. It's more that we were supposed to draw people. And how they move, how their muscles work," Hah. If only the homework was that engaging, "I guess I went a bit far with it, but it wasn't for anyone but me to see."

"And your Art teacher."

"And him, yes, but he would understand it for what it is." Skhy hoped Father wouldn't call up Professor Van Dyck to have him confirm it, but he was too happy to accept the bullshit.

"Good," he was audibly relieved, "Good, and I'm sure he'll be pleased with it. You have a wonderful talent."

Skhy spasmed a shrug and closed the notebook, finding the fib easier to carry on without the obvious evidence against it.

"How are you doing otherwise?" Father remained standing, "For school, are your marks up?"

"Most of them. Charms has been hard lately, but I passed the last quiz."

"Good. Where have you been best?"

"Besides?" Skhy held up the sketchbook.

"Besides, yes."

Skhy thought about it a moment, "Muggle Studies, actually. It's mostly because I have so much help with it, you know, from Phi."

"I never took Muggle Studies myself," Father glanced to the carburetor in the back, which was still puttering away, "What on earth is that?"

Skhy told him, and repeated some of Professor Penrose's introductory lecture. Father listened attentively, but half his mind seemed elsewhere.

"Is Phi your closest friend?"

"Yes," Skhy agreed, "Not that there's much competition now, but she's definitely my best mate. Especially now, really."

"You'll have to introduce us sometime, I don't remember seeing her at King's Cross."

"You have seen her, here," Skhy flipped back through the sketchbook to one of her and presented it back to him.

"What are these agitated marks?"

"Impatience."

Father's brow furrowed as he watched the magicked ink dart around the stationary figure.

"It's how she feels most of the time," Skhy explained, "I was trying to get how she's like when she's waiting for the post, which is practically her default state."

"There aren't enough distractions at Hogwarts for her?"

"She's just used to communications being faster. In the muggle world, it's practically instantaneous, even from her friends in America."

Father blinked with a twitch, as if an insect had flown close to his face, and handed the sketchbook back to Skhy.

"What about the Tri-wizard tournament. That has to be exciting."

"It's alright. We only get to read about the tasks from the prophet so we don't experience much more of it than you do."

"The Hogwarts Champion's from Ravenclaw, isn't she?"

"Yes, Dominique Weasley. I know her, sort of. She's cool, one of the nicer prefects. I don't think anybody expects her to be the next champion, though."

"She won the ragnarok challenge, didn't she?"

"Yeah, but her point total's still way behind. That one sounded amazing, though, you know how they had to demolish the field as they played?"

"Yes, I saw the pictures for that. That sounded incredibly dangerous, I assume there was some sort of cooling charm in place so the lava wouldn't get out of control."

"Apparently it's all iced over now. Louis took Phi to the Yule Ball, and the dance was set on what was left of the field. The Durmstrang students forced everybody to skate and pretty much no-one but them had done it properly before."

"That must have been the trouble in the international office last month," Father thought back, "It was something about the french suing over ruined dress robes. I'm sure that was a power play on the part of Vladimirovich, but it might have just been bad planning. I remember for the second task in my year -"

"The one where Harry Potter saved the french hostage and his own by using gillyweed," Skhy recounted eagerly, and then blushed at hearing the reverent tone in his voice.

"Yes, he did that," Father politely passed over the gushing, "The challenge was set up incredibly poorly from an audience's standpoint. The entire event took place under the lake and forced us to alchemize our own entertainment with nothing but the limited element of suspense."

Skhy giggled, both at the pun and visual image. Father told more of his tournamnet, and Skhy only half listened to the story, having gone back to the sketchbook. He had intended to finish the female figure of the ice-skating Durmstrang champion, but the portrait of Albus where he was blowing hair off his face needed better shading. Skhy started under the chin. Albus turned his head to the side, giving him a better area to work and looked him in the eye. His stare was one of the best Skhy had mustered, but he could see his attempts to capture it still missed something. It didn't hate him enough.

His eyelashes fluttered and he felt his nose fill up. He tried to ask Father for a tissue, but the words couldn't climb out of his slimy throat. They slipped and fell back down, making large plops that splashed waves up to his eyes. Father sat back down on the couch and put a hand on Skhy's shoulder. Skhy crumbled from the warmth, the leeway he'd given himself suddenly not nearly enough. He folded inward, filling the open air with chunks of earth and toil as he plummeted to the boiling waters. It all welled up. The jelly-legs jinxes, the Weasley Wizard Wheezes pranks, the exploding breakfasts, the names. He told about the broomstick incident first year and the venomous tentacula in the bathroom second year. The visits to the hospital wing that weren't because he was having difficulty aiming his wand in Transfiguration. When Skhy had collected himself long enough to hear, Father left the couch, and kneeled in front of him. He took him by the shoulders, tightly with both hands, and looked him square in the face. Father's eyes were like solar eclipses, cold and dark with light red lids, that stood in fierce relief with his white skin.

"You haven't done anything wrong. Do you understand me? I'm going to fix this. You're going to be alright, we're going to get you through this. Who did you say is doing this to you, you said it's James Potter II?"

Skhy hadn't resurfaced enough to speak, so he hung his head instead. Father went to the door and let the professors back in the room, but swiftly returned to Skhy's side. Professor Penrose reopened the drapes.

"So, have you resolved the issue?" asked the head of Ravenclaw brusquely. He was more than ready to wash his hands of the whole thing. Professor Longbottom looked appraisingly at Skhy, who was drowning in tissues like a statue in pigeon poo.

"We've discussed the matter you wished, yes, and it is no longer your concern," Father stated through clenched teeth.

"Oh, good, really, we're grateful for your time -"

"But the issue is by no means resolved."

"No?" The professors stiffened.

"No." Father drew up his full height again, and wisped to edge of the room, the starting point for a new pacing circuit.

"Where is Mr. Potter?" the question popped the bubbles of protest from the teachers.

"James or Albus?," Professor Penrose queried cautiously.

"The original recipe," clarified Father, "Where is Harry Potter and why was he not invited to this little hearing?"

The head of Gryffindor house answered, "I didn't think it necessary, this was private matter, about Scorpius's -"

"You don't think it necessary that the perpetrator of the crime be called to trial alongside the victim?"

They didn't follow.

"My son has been a victim of what amounts to extreme sexual harassment by James Potter II and some of his cohorts. You have now taken him aside, isolated his element from the brew. I respect that you wanted my consultation as a parent, and thought that it was prudent to help him even where you as staff members were at a loss, but my son's woes are not concocted in a void. You wouldn't have even heard of the issues were it not for the 'accusations' of his peers. From he has told me, James Potter II, and assorted others, are the truly disturbing ingredients who need just as much, if not more, examination. Where is his father, and their fathers?"

"Mr. Malfoy, as you may recall from your own youth, the staff does not involve itself with the petty squabbles of the students," the muggle studies professor said, "We saw Skhy as a special case for obvious reasons, but James Potter and his friends do not step far outside what is considered normal for interstudent rivalries."

"Not moments ago, my son was in tears, he was so traumatized by your "normal interstudent rivalry," Father pacing was forcing the other wizards to pivot where they stood to keep up with him, "Give me one reason not to bring the school board down on your heads for failure to discipline."

"We do dock house points if they're too disruptive, of course, and James Potter has certainly earned a healthy sum of detentions this year. However, it is an important part of the educational experience at boarding school that they then learn to deal with tough customers and build character by coping on their own."

"I appreciate the need of the children to leave the nest, try their wings for what their worth, and perhaps fall a few times before they are ready to truly fly into life, but not while there is a famished cat stalking below. A school that turns a blind eye to blatant bullying in the name of contrived competition is hardly a healthy learning environment. Summon Harry Potter and his son to this office or I will bring every member of this school's staff before Wizengamot for participating, knowingly and willingly, in a case of institutionalized child abuse."

"Wait just a minute, sir," Penrose balked.

"Malfoy, you're out of line!" Professor Longbottom raised his voice over his, booming with personal offense, "You're overreacting, and your demand is ridiculous. Harry Potter is battling trolls in Norway right now for all we know."

"He also could be having dinner at home with his lovely wife," Father lowered his voice and found his destination at the fireplace, where he rested his arm, "I will not tolerate harm, perpetrated or permitted, against my son."

"No one is guilty of either at Hogwarts!"

"Where is Mr. Potter?"

The head of Ravenclaw stepped between the two wizards, who were now only a few feet apart. They made quite a contrast; the professor was larger, but Father was taller.

"Neville, would you please retrieve James Potter from Gryffindor Tower," Professor Penrose ordered softly.

He did so, after a pause to glare at Father, who had already opened the Floo box.

"Can't we send an owl and finish this in morning, we shouldn't be bothering him at this hour," Professor Penrose protested. Fucking owls, Phi's refrain chimed in Skhy's head. Father simply brushed off the lapels of his working robes in response, and cast the powder into the hearth. Up to this point in the proceedings, Skhy had been numbly aware of Father's rant, but wasn't at all putting much mind to what he was saying aside from that he was rising to Skhy's defense. Gradually, the ramifications started to register in full. Harry Potter was coming here. Now. Assuming Father was right, and the he was at home. The thought of Harry Potter's home, of his kitchen, or dining room, or living room, or upstairs rooms, or bed, whipped the waves into a hurricane. Skhy felt seasick. He put his head on his knees, and breathed. So many feels.

"Godric's Hollow, Potter Cottage 2," Father called clearly, and stuck his head in the emerald flames.

For a good fifteen minutes, nothing much happened, except for Skhy's rampant hyperventilating. At last, Father stood up, with soot in his hair aging him a decade.

"Did you -?" asked Professor Penrose.

"He's coming," Father tersely siphoned his scalp clean, "He's getting a permit from the Ministry to connect this office to the network proper."

Ten minutes more ticked by. Father sat back down with Skhy, and vanished the tissues.

"Are you feeling alright?"

Skhy shrugged, his shoulders feeling like they might float away from his body entirely, "Better."

"Don't be nervous; he's only a human. And he's coming for James, not you."

Skhy's face flushed at that. He didn't know if he wished he were.

"You haven't done anything wrong," Father repeated.

The fireplace suddenly roared a brilliant green, and in it a pair of legs whirled.

"I still prefer brooms," Harry Potter muttered as he stooped out from the ashes. He shook the debris from his thick jet black mane manually, leaving even more disheveled than before, and straightened his glasses with his forefinger. Granted, he was twelve years older than Skhy's artwork, but still. He was Harry Bloody Potter. A blush of heat flooded Skhy's face, and he quickly stuffed the sketchbook under his legs and gripped his knees, as though it made an impenetrable vault. The scar was a dull brown, not the fresh blood red of the posters. Don't stare. His face had light laugh lines and worry lines in equal measure, and a few new marks on his left cheek and across his nose from some more recent encounter in his ceaseless battle against dark forces. Don't waste the moment. He was tall, taller than Father by a few inches, but despite his slenderness still fuller figured. Don't let him see you. His robes were a professional black, but hastily donned with the tie around the middle hanging loose, and underneath them was a second layer that had a more casual sky blue/golden snitch pattern. Don't run.

"Whose office is this?" He looked around at his company in disorientation.

"Mine, I am Professor Pheobus Primrose, Muggle Studies," the eponymous man stepped forward to shake Harry Potter's hand, "It's an honor to meet you, sir."

"Likewise. I didn't take Muggle Studies, it would have been redundant," he responded, "But I've heard Arthur Weasley mention your work on muggle relations and your essay on the logistics of mass wizard gatherings is really impressive."

Father cleared his throat pointedly.

"Draco would like to remind us that I am here on his time," Harry Potter walked to the tableless round of chairs in the middle of the room and sat in the student one, between Professor Longbottom's and Father's seat on the couch. He turned the chair around and rested with his arms on the back, his legs down the sides. Edgy, but still approachable. Father rolled his eyes.

"We're waiting for James, then?"

"Yes," the Muggle Studies professor retook his position behind his desk, "Neville is retrieving him."

Harry Potter nodded, Father must have told him already some of the situation. He glanced around the room, a touch impatiently. The carburetor in the back made him puzzle briefly, but he seemed to remember what sort of thing it was from his muggle upbringing. He looked back to Father, and then his eyes, which matched the Floo fire both in hue and warmth, met Skhy.

"I'm sorry, what's your name, again?"

Skhy dropped his gaze like hot potato.

"Skhy,"

"Scorpius,"

His father raised an eyebrow, having spoken simultaneously with him.

"It's a nickname," Skhy mumbled.

"One that you like?"

"Yes." he dared to look up to see that Harry Potter was smiling, smaller, but better, far better, than the mere drawing, and holding out a hand to him.

"Then, Skhy, I'm - Neville Longbottom, you're looking well!"

Professor Longbottom had returned with James and Harry stood to greet him, withdrawing the hand to clasp his old schoolmate around the shoulder.

"Harry, I haven't seen you in a year!"

"And it's deputy headmaster now, isn't it? I'm sorry I missed the alumnus party for Pomona. It was, er, a stupid thing. The negotiations with the giants had broken down, Kingsley insisted. Funny story, actually, there was this disagreement about the tables."

"Oh, I don't care, it's good to see you now. How is Ginny?"

"She's brilliant. Retiring from the pitch was hard on her, but she's thinking of getting back into work now that Lily's at school. She's thinking of being an apprentice healer."

"That's down to earth of her. I'll be honest, I never thought of her as the healing type. Too tame, I would have thought."

"You're joking, I've been in a ward enough times to know - giants are a walk in the park compared to St Mungos."

While the adults went about tail-sniffing, James was ushered to the second student chair, between the his father and his Godfather. He lounged, aware that he was in trouble and trying to tease just how much. He looked over at Skhy, but didn't really meet his eyes, and then to Father. Figuring out that this was a deeper hole than the average detention, he straightened his back and folded his legs primly as the adults resumed positions.

"What is this about?" asked Harry Potter.

Father listed off the things Skhy has told him James and company had done, as as he did so Harry Potter dark eyebrows lowered and leveled. James kept his lip shut through it, but smirked occasionally at a few of the ones he remembered fondly. Oh, come on, that was a good one. When he was finished, Harry Potter sighed wearily.

"James,"

"Dad," James moaned, "It wasn't as bad as all that."

"It wasn't true?"

"Well.. yeah, I guess... it was, but I was just messing with him. Like we all do to each other, it's a just a bit of fun. It didn't mean anything, I didn't think he was going to be crying to his parents about any of it."

"Bullshit," Skhy heard himself say. The adults huffed at him, and he looked at them in earnest, "He threatened to feed Iris to the giant squid if I did."

"That was a joke, you li-" James changed course before he dropped the quaffle of false friendliness, "You can't take a joke? See, it's not my fault if he -"

"James," his name stoppered him like a keeper's glove. His father spoke to the adults, "How long has this been going on?"

"About a month," Professor Longbottom supplied, "there was an incident where James took Scorpius's -"

"The details don't matter," Father talked over him, "This past month is when the harassments reached a higher pitch that called the staff's attention, but I have accounts from Skhy general bullying has been going on for some time before then."

"Considerably," Harry Potter said measuredly. He rubbed his forehead tiredly, and it registered with Skhy that he was the same age, roughly, as Father. He'd of course always been aware cognitively, but only now did it sink in. It was a oddly angled notion, and yet its puzzle cooled Skhy down some, "Professors, boys, how about you give us a moment alone, this is between me and Mr. Malfoy."

They got up to leave, and James was caught by the arm on his way out.

"Your wand," his father held out his hand. James scowled, but gave it over. Father sent Skhy an encouraging look as Professor Penrose shut the door. Almost immediately, before it was even truly closed, James unsheathed the Extendable Ears. Skhy, naturally, followed suit. The adults had set up chairs in the hallway a little ways down, they seemed keen to give the school-yard rivals their space, and were too busy conversing amongst themselves to care what the teens were doing. The ears slipped through the clearance under the door, the two each took a side. James elbowed Skhy to give himself more room, but was thankfully more interested in eavesdropping than "having a bit of fun". The first voice audible was Father's.

"That's hawthorn wood, like mine was."

"It was yours. After I repaired mine, I had no use for it, and you, of course, didn't want it back, so I just kept it."

"And passed it on."

"James requested it. I often used it as prop when telling the story and, when I explained to him why I wasn't about to give him the elder wand, he asked for the hawthorn instead."

The carburetor choked on itself for a beat, but continued plugging. A chair creaked.

"And it goes around and around again," Harry Potter said almost to himself.

"All I'm asking is for you to take some responsibility."

"Responsibility. You do realize, many of those ugly spells aren't the first time this wand has performed them."

"Of course I do. I see the ironies, every single one." Father's voice was so low, it was almost masked by the background hum.

"Sins of the father, Draco; you can hardly say these aren't yours."

"But then why should he have to bear them?"

"You got away with far worse, in our day. Maybe not against me, but Neville, surely, and how many underclassmen? Come to that, why did the staff bring it to us? What changed in the past month?"

"Nothing relevant, suffice that it was originally only me they called down for Skhy, and they seemed reluctant to have bothered that much. I had to threaten to them with a lawsuit to get them to address James's part in it."

"Did you really? What kind of lawsuit?"

"Child abuse, but in truth it was a bluff. There are no hard laws against it. The most I could do is bring it to the school board of governors, and I haven't half the clout my father did. I may try anyway, though. The things they let these kids get away with doing to each other, it's appalling. Hell, back when it was me and you, Professor Snape even rewarded it."

"Of course, blatant favoritism is a tried and true principle of Hogwarts teaching. Is there anything like Snape and Neville going on, with Skhy?"

"The professors never stated it aloud, and I didn't want to complicate my argument by bringing it up, but I know full well why my son was the only one called to face the music."

"The staff might just have a few bad apples, like Snape was. You learned to work around them, and respect the ones who were friendly or at least neutral. They're good people for the most part and they really care about the kids."

"Not all the kids. You were Gryffindor; you didn't get it as much from the other heads, but I assure you, on a bad day Professors Sprout and Flitwick were no better to us than Professor Snape was to Longbottom."

"McGonagall was fair."

"She was the exception and we, the rest of the houses, would play her to our advantage."

"Remember when she once docked one hundred-and fifty points from Gryffindor, and then what- fifty from Slytherin?"

"Merlin, the house cup. Isn't that the most fucked up thing? I think it was my sixth year when I finally realized how hollow it all is," Father sighed and the leather creaked like he was getting up. There was a pause, and then faintly he continued, "But it's this place, these people. You know I've left it behind - I've spent the past twenty years making the most honest living I can."

"As a lawyer."

"You're killing me, Potter. But seriously, the first thing that went through my mind when I saw Longbottom's face today was him falling flat on it in a leg-locking curse."

"I want my son to be a better man than I was," Father continued, "And I think he will be, he's a good kid, sensitive and keen. But your James..."

"I understand, really I do. You're right, I too want my son to be a better man than you."

"Consider the complement warmly received," Father snarked and Harry Potter chuckled.

"I will talk to him."

"You know they've been listening in this whole time."

"But of course. Hallo, James!" Harry Potter called directly to the eavesdroppers.

James retracted the ear so fast that the lobe snagged and was rendered by the wood.


End file.
